


and e'er shall we meet

by deniigiq



Series: finding the lost and losing the found [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din is Bad at Emotions but Trying Very Hard, Exhaustion, Helmetless Din Djarin, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: Skywalker refused to come. He was covered in children. He couldn’t leave, he claimed, he’d been defeated by so many Jedi Knights.Din pleaded with the staff silently to help him remove this man from the dirt floor.(Din is told to make his and Luke's engagement official by sending out a formal message to other Mandalorians, and everything goes wrong before it all goes right.)
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker
Series: finding the lost and losing the found [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090520
Comments: 62
Kudos: 880





	and e'er shall we meet

**Author's Note:**

> finally Din's POV on the whole thing ❤

The Jedi Skywalker was missing a hand, and apparently _no one_ had thought to alert Din of this, even after multiple discussions with multiple once-trusted, allegedly knowledgeable parties.

 _They_ were the ones who claimed that they knew best how to handle the present circumstances, and as such, Din did not appreciate the level of mirth taking place at his struggles in this sham of a court.

Mandalorians were supposed to support each other, _Fett._

“—never been a better match,” Fett told Fennec, delicately wiping tears from his eyes. “It was destined by every line of fate.”

Fennec’s wobbling smile at Din’s misfortune was an almost equal betrayal of Fett’s.

“I’m glad this is all very funny to you,” Din said poisonously.

Fett started wheezing again. Fennec’s control slipped enough for a few teeth to show through her lips.

“I assure you that it was highly comical to him as well,” Din added. “But there are more pressing matters that we must take care of.”

Fett collected himself and cleared his throat and Fennec swallowed hard and nodded.

Bo-Katan arrived to the Sham Throne and left her guards in the main chamber with Fett and Fennec. Din greeted her. She returned the favor and removed her helmet. They sat at the table that Fennec had procured for the occasion. The rest of the room remained empty.

“Fett told me your intentions,” Bo-Katan said. “I find them…interesting.”

“I have no need or use for this position that I’ve found myself in,” Din said. “But if this is what must be done, then I am willing to stay as I am as an interim leader.”

Bo-Katan raised her chin.

“I do not need your pity, Din Djarin,” she said. “You are rightfully the Mand’alor.”

“I am not and we both know this,” Din said.

“Din,” Bo-Katan started.

“I am a foundling and a member of an orthodox sect,” Din said, forcing his breath to remain even through the coldness spreading in his lungs. “I know nothing of Mandalore and other Mandalorians. For their sake, and mine, I think it best that we both acknowledge that my prowess has been and remains in the protection of ancient things.”

He set the saber on the table between them.

“I will not take it, Din,” Bo-Katan said.

“Then I will protect it until you or another are able,” Din said. “Bo-Katan, I beg you to hear what I am saying to you. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know these people.”

Bo-Katan’s shoulders rose and her spine propelled her to even straighter posture.

“I need your guidance,” Din said.

“You want me to help you be Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked.

“It is not an insult,” Din said. “Or it is not intended as one. Rather, my plan for the saber—”

“Your plan is to carry on doing as you have,” Bo-Katan said. “That’s not possible, Din.”

It had to be. It _had_ to because Din wasn’t capable of doing anything else.

“I will discharge the duties of Mand’alor,” he said. “But that is the only commitment I can make. The rest of the Mandalorians need more than I have to offer. You are the only one who I trust to know what the others need.”

Bo-Katan rubbed her lips together and then, with a soft huff, dropped her face towards the table.

“You wish to be a placeholder,” she said.

“I’m very good at it,” Din promised her.

“Din—”

“It’s _all_ that I can do.”

“Din, listen.”

“I was never meant for greatness.”

“But you could be.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about our people,” Din said. “And as a Mandalorian, it would be foolish of me to walk into battle afraid, alone, and unprepared.” 

Silence came as Bo-Katan thought. She stood. He stood with her.

“It would be an honor to serve, Mand’alor,” she said, holding out a hand.

Praise be.

“This is the Way,” Din said.

“This is the Way.”

Bo-Katan was a life-saver. She knew the order that things had to be done in. The ceremonies. The courts to be set up, the bodies appointed. The only major obstacle at the moment was that she and Fett would murder each other in cold blood if left unattended, so Din had to, against his better judgement, get between them and verbally declare Fett to be a trusted body.

Everyone seemed surprised, even Fett himself. Din didn’t understand, but he had more pressing matters to deal with so he left them to that.

There was trouble on Nevarro.

“Woah, woah, woah. Where do you think you’re going?”

Din blinked at the two sets of armor before him. These were Bo-Katan’s companions. Their names escaped him.

He moved left. They moved left.

He moved right. They moved right.

“Mand’alor,” the one with the dark skin and braids said, “You _surely_ aren’t abandoning us already?”

Mmmmmmaybe?

The man with the large forehead next to her smirked and shifted his weight back to his left heel. He crossed his arms knowingly.

“I don’t think so, friend,” he said.

Din looked past them towards the door. It was only around thirty paces away. If he was quick—

“ _Din_ ,” Bo-Katan said dangerously behind him.

Hhhhh.

“Get back here,” Bo-Katan said. “I’m not finished with you.”

This was the worst.

Din didn’t want to send out a message. He wanted zero messages at all. None was the ideal number of messages that anyone, anywhere was to receive from him ever. And he _wasn’t_ wearing that cape by the way, please and thank you.

“Din.”

Don’t look at him.

“ _Din_.”

“She’s right, Djarin,” Fett said. “If you don’t tell people, then they’ll learn it from the others and who knows what spin those gossips will put on it.”

Bo-Katan perked up and eyed Fett up and down suspiciously. Din cringed at the thought of the two of them agreeing.

“I—what am I supposed to say?” he asked. “It’s not complicated. They can—”

“Just say that you’ve declared your intent towards the Jedi,” Bo-Katan said. “It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that, everyone will know to mind their business for a time afterwards.”

Well. Yes. But here was the problem:

Afterwards.

“You can’t leave the Jedi for longer than is necessary,” Bo-Katan said. “People are going to expect a reception. If one isn’t forthcoming then, well, they’ll think— _correctly_ —that it was all a publicity stunt.”

“And what if the Jedi doesn’t _want_ a reception?” Din tried, knowing full damn well that that could not possibly be the case.

“Then he’ll suffer as you are,” Bo-Katan said stiffly. “It’s not about you two, remember?”

Oh, how he was going to regret ever speaking such words in her presence.

Fett told him to go do it properly and to make it romantic this time; the people of Mandalore deserved a good fairytale.

Ah, yes. Romantic.

Din knew romance. It was all about…nothing. He knew nothing about romance.

The other two stared at him. Fett broke out into a grin.

Romance was disgusting. Din hated romance.

“Now, go get ‘em,” Fett said, slapping his shoulder before shoving him out the door. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything in your absence. Spare no details when you return.”

Din spun around, but the doors had already closed.

He did not groan. But he did pout. He let himself pout. There was no one around to witness it.

The Jedi—Luke, already. Come on, Mando, you’re better than this. You’re getting marr—hng. Nevermind.

Skywalker (that was better) spent almost all of his time at his school. He was easy to locate, hence why the Mandalorians from the other day had congregated there. Din hadn’t wanted to leave him at all after that confrontation, but Skywalker requested space away, and who was Din to deny him his privacy?

Grogu was less interested in such things as privacy. He kept grabbing at Din’s trousers and trying to pull him towards wherever Skywalker was. The first few times, Din wrote it off. But eventually, even Din had to admit that the kid was onto something.

Din found the Skywalker at the base of _Anchor IV_ shortly before he left for the Dune Sea. He was sleeping there by himself.

It wasn’t safe for him to be unconscious in plain view like that, especially after the most recent events, so Din brought him inside and laid him somewhere more comfortable.

Grogu whined to be put in his hanging sleeping hammock nearby, and it was late, so Din gave in and let him go where he pleased. He left the door of Grogu’s compartment open and went about his business, fixing what he could of the _Anchor_ before he had to put her through another asteroid belt.

Only a few minutes later, though, he found himself being picked and tugged at.

Grogu had somehow gotten down from his hammock. Din frowned at first, but Grogu chirped at him and pulled with all his might, so he gave in and followed the kid back into the main cabin where an unfamiliar sound had started up.

Grogu pointed at Din’s sleeping compartment.

Skywalker was the source of the noise. At first, Din winced and thought it wildly inappropriate of the Jedi to have given into such urges in the presence of a child, but quickly he realized that the noises weren’t quite on the mark for that. They were cut-off and breathless. Pained, almost.

Skywalker was still asleep when Din drew back the compartment’s covering. He twitched violently and then appeared to try to duck with nowhere for the motion to go.

Grogu made an unhappy chirp.

Din back teeth ached in sympathy.

He’d swept Grogu up and had taken him away until Skywalker’s nightmares passed and left him more quiet and stable again.

It still felt wrong. Din wasn’t sure why.

When he left Grogu with Skywalker a few little while later for the Sham Court, a gnawing developed in the very base of his esophagus, and ever since, it started up anytime he wasn’t being harassed by other Mandalorians. It didn’t even ease up now as he set course for the school again.

Skywalker was nowhere to be found at the school. The staff greeted Din and then scurried away giggling. They claimed that their employer had left for the time being.

That was unhelpful, so Din decided to go pick the child’s brain for more information.

Grogu was similarly unhelpful. He appeared to have made a home in a laundry basket in the school’s back courtyard, and he screamed when Din removed him from it.

Din put him back in. The screaming turned to cooing. Din took him out and held him and the cooing drifted in the direction of babbling. Din set him on the ground and started to walk away, but that was _not_ acceptable apparently.

Back into the basket.

Din stared at his child. Grogu waved at him from inside it.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Din told him. “Where is your Jedi?”

Grogu didn’t know. He busied himself trying to flip the basket over.

He’d be fine. Din left him to his business.

He ended up tracking Skywalker. The man had smaller feet than expected, which made finding their imprints among the children and staff’s tricky, but eventually the imprints broke away from the shelter and headed a ways away towards one of the more tree-covered areas nearby.

Skywalker appeared to have an affinity for extreme climates; he moved through Tatooine terrain with ease and had appeared relaxed and at home on the swamp planet he’d taken Din and Grogu to. Din tried to locate something abysmally wet in the surroundings. In lieu of that, he switched gears and headed out of the tree-covered space towards a nearby rock-formation.

At the top of it sat a figure.

Skywalker was meditating up there. He didn’t react when Din nearly lost his footing and plummeted a good hundred feet. He didn’t react when Din finally managed to scrabble up the side of the boulder he was perched on.

He only reacted when Din accidently brushed his shoulder in trying to find somewhere to settle in that wouldn’t result in imminent pain or loss of life. At the slightest touch, Skywalker lashed out and cracked a fist into the unarmored part of Din’s ribs.

As it was, there was no painless place to be found in these rocks.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Skywalker fussed over him once he’d come back to himself. “Here, let me—”

No, no. He’d done enough. Din was great. Din was fine.

He’d just forgotten (stupidly), through all the dramatics, that Skywalker was in fact a warrior himself. When he’d shouted that he didn’t need protection the other day, he meant it, however faulty his logic was in a broader sense.

“What are you doing here?” Skywalker asked him.

Din couldn’t very well say ‘romance,’ so he said that he’d come to check on the kid. Skywalker accepted this explanation. He didn’t go back to meditating, but he did return to his earlier seat and gazed out over the landscape.

He looked…off. Unhappy. Far more subdued than he had been during their last meeting.

“Are you alright?” Din asked, kicking himself for being so toneless.

“Yes.” 

Tonelessness to the Jedi was received and met with reciprocation or abrupt formality. It was not helpful. Din kept falling into this same trap over and over.

“Do you like…to be up high?” he asked.

“No.”

Well, this was going great.

“I miss Tatooine.”

Din snapped to attention.

“Tatooine?” he asked.

“I grew up there,” Skywalker told the hazy hills before him. “I don’t mind the heat.”

Din fidgeted with his gloves.

“The—my present, uh.” Sham Court. “ _Base of operations_ is on Tatooine,” he said.

Skywalker said nothing. If anything, he seemed more hollow than ever. Din could feel panic starting to creep up into his chest.

Romance was impossible. He needed to go find a ship to steal or an Imperial base to destroy or something.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing changes, right?”

There was a right and a wrong answer to this question, Din knew it. And with his luck, the dice here were loaded.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you want things to change?”

Skywalker touched the bracelet on his left wrist. He pressed it into the veins there with the thumb of his prosthetic.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Din felt the skin on his forehead folding. He was at a loss for words to fill the widening crevasse between them.

He sighed.

“I don’t mean to cause you alarm,” he said, “But it is important that a missive is distributed to Mandalorians in the galaxy regarding our alliance.”

“Our marriage,” Skywalker corrected.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we can call it a partnership,” Din said. “Or if it makes you extremely uncomfortable, it need not take place at all.”

Skywalker gave nothing away.

“What kind of missive?” he asked with half-closed eyes.

Din swore he tasted something sour.

It was probably the guilt.

“Luke,” he said quietly. “You’re upset. What upsets you?”

“Everything.”

Right.

About face. Turn back. Retreat.

“Is there anything that I can do to—”

Skywalker stood up suddenly and turned back with a false smile. He offered a hand down.

“Come,” he said. “We have a message to send.”

Fett, Bo-Katan, guard with the braids, anyone _—_

 _Help_.

“Are these sufficient?” Skywalker asked him, holding up a set of white and light brown colored robes. “They are the traditional clothing of the Jedi.”

“Yes, if they please you,” Din said.

Skywalker lowered his eyes upon the fabric and moved his left thumb in a slow circle in the cloth.

“They please me,” he said, leaving Din to go set the clothes on his desk and check them over for holes.

Din’s neck crawled as he glanced around the room. Skywalker’s sleeping quarters were sparce and, now that he was looking for it, highly reminiscent of those in village homes on Tatooine. There wasn’t much color to be found outside of the two cloaks hung on the back of the room’s door.

The black one seemed oddly dusty. Skywalker ignored it when he lifted the green one from its hook and set it down on top of his formal clothing.

“It’s not bad,” he said.

Din couldn’t stop looking back at the black cloak. It was the favored one, was it not? It was the one that Skywalker had been furious at him for taking what felt like ages ago.

“Would you not prefer this other one?” he asked.

Skywalker’s shoulders stiffened.

“The white and brown is traditional,” he said. “It’s more proper to wear a lighter cloak, too.”

But? The black? Was right there?

Din was so confused. He was positive that this was a significant choice. It had to be, and if he was a responsible partner to his—whatever Skywalker was—then surely he would point this out.

But the words refused to come.

“Will you wear that?” Skywalker asked him.

Din blinked himself back and looked down at his armor.

“Yes,” he said. “With some minor modifications.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. There is a _cape_ ,” Din said in disgust.

“A full one?” Skywalker asked with a bit more teasing in his tone.

“Green,” Din said. “We will match.”

That little haze of emotion vanished from Skywalker’s face like water evaporating from the _Anchor_ ’s windshield upon entering hyperdrive.

“How fitting,” he said.

Din was suffocating. The second he broke away to leave Skywalker to his teaching, he headed for the _Anchor_ and called the others. He told Fett and Bo-Katan that Skywalker had agreed to a message. They accepted this and then waited.

And waited.

And—

“Let’s not call it a marriage,” Din said.

Fett stabbed a silent finger directly at him.

“If you’re faking, people will know,” he threatened. Bo-Katan looked away innocently, playing coy so as not to outright agree with Fett.

“He is not receptive to romance,” Din pleaded. “And our relationship is really more of convenience, so—”

“So you’ll spit on the institution of marriage while in the most important position to our people?” Bo-Katan asked.

Din’s teeth hurt from clenching them so hard.

“What would your Armorer say?” Fett sighed.

Din could just about scream.

“Try again,” Bo-Katan said. “And if he remains uninterested, then we will at least coach him on how to behave in the missive.”

Right. Okay.

“ _Din_ ,” Fett said. “He’s human like you. Maybe try being a little less,” he trailed off.

“Yes, that,” Bo-Katan agreed.

Din stared.

“Less what?” he asked.

The other two shared a long glance.

More emotional. They wanted him to be more emotional and less ‘droid-like.’

Din was rattling in his armor.

It all felt so wrong. So, so, _so_ wrong.

He’d already given Skywalker his insignia. He’d put the mark on him himself. Surely that wasn’t ‘droid-like.’ Before Skywalker had gone and ruined it, it had been intimate, had it not?

And yet here were Fett and Bo-Katan and their snipers and guards all holding out their hands and telling him without ever saying the exact words to take off his damn helmet.

He was going to die. That was it, plain and simple. And for its role in his murder, romance ought to die with him, he’d decided.

“Oh, you’re back so soon. Are we going now?” Skywalker asked when Din strode into his classroom as soon as the kids had vacated it. Din grabbed his wrist and started back the way he’d come.

“Wait, I’ve got to get dress—”

None of that. No. Din wouldn’t hear of it.

Skywalker _said_ he didn’t particularly care about the rock cliff, but people _said_ all kind of things. The rock cliff was far away from the school and its staff and any surrounding villages. It was a place free of busybodies and gossipers and traitorous advisors.

The sun was setting when they arrived and Din was grateful for it. He was tired of being seen for the day. Tired of being looked at and opinionated upon. It was easier to be alone. It was always easier.

“Din?”

But now there was this guy.

“What’s the matter?”

Another witness. More demands. More questions.

“Are you--? Oh, I see. Here, let go. It’s alright,” Skywalker said. “You didn’t have to drag me all the way out here. I get it.”

There wasn’t anything to get; Din simply had to be honest. That was what he had to be. He just had to lay it all out into the open and cross his fingers and pray that—

“Here.”

Pray that—

“I’ll take it off.”

Pray…that…

“Oh, it is tricky, isn’t it? Sorry, give me one moment.”

“What are you doing?” Din breathed.

Skywalker stopped like an animal caught in floodlights.

“Taking it off?” he said slowly. “You want it back, don’t you? The mudhorn?”

Din was suddenly standing in a sand dune, trying and failing to get purchase and sinking, sinking, sinking.

“You want it off?” he asked.

Skywalker held out his wrist. The mudhorn was facing the wrong way now, having flipped over so that its horn was pressed into his skin.

Or maybe that had been the right way after all.

“It’s yours. You can have it back,” Skywalker said.

But _why_?

Had there been a timer that Din hadn’t seen? Did the Jedi have a code of proposals within 24 hours of declaration of intent? Was Din that terrible of a match for Luke Skywalker?

“I…see,” he said to the wrist.

“This hand isn’t as dexterous,” Skywalker said. “So I’m afraid that you’ll have to help.”

That was sadistic, wasn’t it?

“Din? What’s the matter? Why’d you go all quiet?”

“I’m sorry,” Din said before he could compose himself. “I’m—it’s—I wish I could be more open. But it is difficult for me. And I understand how that may come across to some as me having no interest in them, and maybe that’s true but, Luke, I tried to give you every opportunity. I know what I did was wrong, but if you’d give me a chance to make it up to you—”

“What are you talking about?” Skywalker said. “It’s fine. It’s _fine_. I understand.”

He didn’t, though. Din was looking into his eyes and he was smiling but it wasn’t a real smile. He hated that green cloak. He loved the black one and he was supposed to be laughing and joking and making fun, but instead he was standing here with a palm held out between him and Din like Din was some kind of _animal_. Like he was afraid that he’d have to blow him back with that energy that he and Grogu channeled.

Din was not new to heartbreak. He’d lived only a few years before it had taken his mother and father, but this felt different somehow.

Luke Skywalker was an overwhelmingly charismatic person. Bratty and dramatic with the constant air of a day-dreamer. He was aggressive towards strangers and suspicious of generosity. He was a warrior. A teacher.

A pillar of warmth and welcome.

He’d tried to help Din twice now for nothing in return, first in taking Grogu to safety and then in aiding him, Din Djarin, in trying to dispose of the saber. And somehow, his concerns in that latter moment had not revolved around the person wielding the saber, but for Din.

Din specifically. Din personally. Skywalker had screamed at Din for putting his life in the line of fire, as if it was worth something now that the Tribe was dispersed and the child had been delivered safely to its people.

And now he stood before Din and rejected the offer of a lifetime of sacrifice in return for those acts.

What was there to do now?

Fett and Bo-Katan’s silence would ring through each Mandalorian who received word of the new Mand’alor. In the first weeks of finally accepting the title, Din would drown it in disgrace.

He really wasn’t worthy, was he?

“Din? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t deserve to wear this armor.

“Din? DIN?? What are you— _no_. What—wait!”

It was back to Nevarro. Back to the ruins. Maybe if Din found the Armorer—if he looked for her, then he could set things right. He could receive more instruction. He could re-train. Re-learn. Do whatever it took to become what she and the others had brought him in to be.

If not that, he didn’t know what to do. So that was the only way forward from here.

Back to Nevarro.

Back to Nevarro.

The world was a blur without the helmet. There were too many and too few colors all at once. The path through the rocks towards the _Anchor_ was far more difficult to locate, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. If nothing else, the loss of the helmet made it harder for Skywalker to find him, what with no gleaming beacon to look out for among the stones.

Din had a headache by the time he set foot in the _Anchor_ ’s main cabin. He didn’t bother sending an update to the others. He had to calm himself enough to set a course for Nevarro. All of the directions and maps in his memory were shaking with his hands.

Horrible. Horrible to think that it was an outsider who’d shaken him like this. If it had been Paz or Jhuvac or Eegang who’d done it, at least he would have had the dignity of knowing that he was their junior and more training and experience could solve the problem.

But no. They were no more. And Din would never see them again. Them or the Armorer. And in this state, even if any of them were alive, they would be horrified to hear what he’d done out of their sight.

To return with no helmet.

It wasn’t the Way. Even if he could never wear it again.

FUCK.

He had to go back and get it.

FUCK.

“Din.”

Every muscle in his body contracted. Skywalker’s voice was different now, as was his step. Both were steadier than they had ever been.

“What is the matter with you?” Skywalker demanded from behind him. “Is this some kind of Mandalorian mating ritual? People could have seen you.”

The tell-tale ring of beskar on beskar scraped out behind Din’s shoulders.

“Take it back,” Skywalker said steadily. “And don’t do that again.”

He’d brought back the helmet. The man’s kindness was endless. Din’s palm felt hot against his forehead.

“Leave it,” he said without turning around. “I’ll take them both. You can just leave them.”

There was a long silence.

Skywalker’s soft-soled shoes didn’t move.

“I misunderstood, Din,” Skywalker said quietly. “I thought you wanted to annul the alliance, but you weren’t going to, were you?”

Din jolted and turned around without even thinking.

“I don’t go back on my word,” he said, then froze at the sight of Skywalker’s face.

It was pale and wide.

His eyes were blue. His hair was lighter than the helmet allowed Din to register.

Skywalker took a shaky step back and then looked away sharply. He held up the helmet in his hands.

“Put it on,” he said tightly towards the ship’s metal flooring. “Put it back on.”

That bad, huh? Well, that was to be expected. Din had to resign himself to this. He reached out for the helmet. Skywalker snatched his hands away the moment he could. Din watched as he stuffed them into his ribs and shivered.

His chest felt full of sighs.

“Thank you,” he eventually said. “I am sorry for my tone and behavior.”

Skywalker shivered harder.

“Put it on,” he said. “You look miserable. I hate it.”

As he wished. Din lifted the helmet back over his head and let it fall into place. It washed the depth and paleness from Skywalker’s face again. He glanced Din’s way and, finding the thing in where it belonged, unfolded into a more aggressive posture.

“Why did you run?” he asked. “Mandalorians don’t retreat from battle.”

“I was emotional,” Din admitted. “It was a cowardly thing to do. Thank you for bring—”

“Emotional about what?” Skywalker interrupted.

Din winced.

“About failing,” he said.

“Failing what?” Skywalker demanded before Din had even finished the last syllable.

“The Creed,” Din said. “The Way. You.”

Skywalker’s eyes were blue, he told himself as they burned like stars into the visor of his helmet.

“That’s ridiculous, Din. Why would you leave your helmet, you stupid idiot.”

Uh, that wasn’t a question.

“I _said_ , why would you leave your HELMET?”

Woah, woah. Take it easy there. There was no need for—

Wh—Um? Was this hugging?

This felt like hugging.

Angry hugging?

“Don’t you EVER do that again,” Skywalker snarled into the beskar on Din’s shoulder. “EVER. You hear me? You’re _not_ a failure. To me or anyone else, okay?”

O?

Kay?

“God, you’re so fucking stupid. GOD.”

A deity?

Hands shoved against Din’s chest and Skywalker tore himself away.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “But this,” he held up the wrist with the mudhorn on it. “You take this and you’re taking the whole arm. Do you understand me?”

Skywalker was gone, but Din’s heart was still weirdly jittery. He’d checked his pulse twice now it and was fine, but the jittering wouldn’t stop.

For one irrational second he thought that maybe he’d caught a cold when he took off his helmet, but that didn’t last because it was absurd.

It had to be something else.

Fett would know what it was. If not him, then Cara. If not her then maybe Bo-Katan or Mayfield or someone they knew.

He called the others to report that the mission had been neither a resounding success nor a spectacular failure, although he had possibly been drugged.

“Awwwww. Look at you, Djarin. You finally felt something. That’s a great start, if you just keep on that path, by the end of the year, you might even have experienced the whole rainbow of—”

“Fett, you’re being obnoxious. Shut up before I make you.”

“I’m ill,” Din translated.

Fett cackled until Bo-Katan took aim for his face.

“No, not ill. In _love_ , “ Fett said, defending his scars from those relentless knuckles. “It’s way worse.”

Explain.

“He’s being incorrigible, Djarin,” Bo-Katan said. “This is a good thing, Skywalker reciprocates your commitment.”

Did he? Did he really? Because Din was getting mixed messages here.

“He does,” Bo-Katan said. “Or at least he’s starting to.

Din understood.

“So don’t screw it up,” Bo-Katan said. “And you’re wearing the cape.”

Din felt less like a warrior leader these days and more like a small rag doll being dragged aggressively around a children’s nursery and then mangled in an attempt at a wardrobe change.

He hated green.

“It’s nice,” Fennec told him, smoothing her fingers over the edge of Din’s new, terrible cape.

“It’s all yours,” he told her back.

“Skywalker is wearing green, too?” Bo-Katan’s guard (Koska? Her name was Koska, yes?) asked over her shoulder.

“Allegedly,” Din said miserably.

“You need to polish your armor.”

Hello, esteemed Advisor, and how are you today? Awful? Great. Din felt the same.

“Leave it with us and go fetch your husband,” Bo-Katan ordered.

Horrendous. Terrible. Don’t ever speak that word again.

“Leave the kid; he’s a target enough already,” Bo-Katan said.

“Oh, he’s green, _too_ ,” Koska crooned. “What a regal family.”

HHHHng.

Yes.

Din would go fetch them right now. Anything to leave this purgatory.

Skywalker refused to come. He was covered in children. He couldn’t leave, he claimed. He’d been defeated by so many Jedi Knights.

Din pleaded with the staff silently to help him remove this man from the dirt floor. They were excellent accomplices.

Grogu was not.

“You stay here,” Din told him, setting him in his dearly beloved laundry basket, which had moved inside, he didn’t fail to notice. “We won’t be long.”

Grogu held up both hands insistently.

“Here,” Din told him again. “You stay here.”

Grogu whined and did a little jump. It was adorable. Din picked him up immediately, only for Skywalker to pluck him right out of his arms as he passed by. He called for a staff member by name and started talking to her about one of the children who had become distraught over bedtime.

Din blinked rapidly and then turned back again to see the lengths and dips of Skywalker’s green cloak. It looked unusually soft against the high white collar that rose neatly from its neck from behind. Grogu’s ears peeked up over the top-most folds around the hood.

The jitters were back, blast them.

Skywalker was bad at taking instruction, which Din already knew, but paired with Grogu, he was practically obstinate. He said that Grogu was coming with them, and then he swept that cloak after him like that was the final word on the topic.

Din went up the _Anchor_ ’s ramp and retrieved the cloak, its owner, and the baby and got halfway back to the shelter before the cloak and its owner successfully wriggled out of his hold and went dashing back for the ship.

Din felt his eyebrow twitch.

This was not time for games. They had to convince a whole diaspora that they were being intentional and serious in forging this relationship.

He went back and the cloak wasn’t anywhere in sight.

He took a big breath.

“Luke,” he called, because Skywalker’s given name seemed to have a mellowing effect on him. “We need to leave. Grogu stays.”

Nothing.

Insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. They didn’t have time for this.

He stifled his frustration and brought up the ramp.

He found the little shits both crammed in his sleeping quarters. Skywalker hunkered down protectively over Grogu, who, for his part, cuddled right back into the white, layered collar of Skywalker’s robe and looked as innocent as could be.

Brats. The both of them.

“Fine,” Din said. “But it’s bedtime.”

Grogu was stowed away in his hammock. Skywalker was dragged away from it so that his bad influence couldn’t contaminate whatever good was left in the kid. Din put him in the copilot’s seat, in hopes that that would distract him.

It didn’t. Of course not.

“I wrote a whole speech in my head for the other Jedis,” he tittered away, swinging merrily from side to side as far as the seat would go. “But I forgot all of it, so I think I’m just going to wing it.”

Din pressed knuckles against his forehead.

“Hey, where did your armor go? You look skinny.”

Skywalker smiled to himself like this was a joke.

“It’s being polished,” Din said.

“Ohhhh. That’s fun. Ah, yes. I brought a saber because I don’t trust any of you as far as I can throw you. Is that alright?”

That was just being practical, really.

“Are you wearing that?”

“You’re in high spirits,” Din noted pointedly.

Skywalker hummed up at the controls on the top panel of the cockpit.

“Maybe I’m excited,” he said.

That was good, then.

“Are _you_ excited?”

For what?

“I dunno. To be official?” Skywalker asked. “I’m still waiting on my ring, you know.”

“Do you actually love me?” Din blurted out.

The high white collar before him steadied in its velvety green sea. Skywalker’s face turned slowly his way. His eyebrows were low and his forehead lined.

“Do _you_?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Love _me_?”

“I’m not sure,” Din said. “You’re more trouble than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I _did_ tell you that I’m a known galactic menace,” Skywalker said. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s an ‘I’m not sure’,” Din said. “I’m not generally attracted to people.”

Skywalker’s lowered brows abandoned their post.

“Really?” he asked. “I fall in love at the drop of the hat. It’s a problem—Leia says it’s a problem, anyways. She and Han are convinced I’m in love with you and have been for _months_ now, but you know how it is.”

Wh—what?

No. Din suddenly knew fuck-all. Go back.

 _Go back right now_.

“I’m not actually sure what that means, if I’m honest,” Skywalker carried on amiably. “But I _do_ know that you make me so angry I could spit sometimes. Although other times, I want to—” he paused, then shook his head lightly and said, “Nevermind.”

It was too little too late, however. Din had never minded anything more in his life.

Go on, they had nothing but time to kill.

Skywalker scowled and started jerkily rocking side to side again.

“I just want to feel you,” he grumbled. “To hear you. To see you. Near me, I mean. So that I know you’re safe and I can keep you that way; it makes me feel like the school is safe. And that makes me feel as though there’s a chance that the galaxy isn’t so cold and unfeeling after all.”

…right.

Skywalker whipped back Din’s way with a wide smile dancing delightedly across his face.

“Your turn. Be honest this time. No more joking. I won’t be offended if you say ‘no,’” he teased.

Yes, that was very fair. Just one moment, though--Din thought he’d heard something fall in the main cabin. 

HE WAS NOT EQUIPPED FOR THIS.

Breathe, Djarin. Breathe.

Channel the Armorer. Channel the Armorer. Channel the Armorer.

What would Paz say?

Paz would say ‘you’re committing heresy on top of treason.’ Nevermind what Paz would say. What would Bo-Katan say?

She’d say that ‘all was going according to plan.’

Bad. All BAD. Din needed functional advice. Who did he know who could offer functional advice and _fast_?

Omera? Great advice. Not fast.

Vanth? Fast advice. Not great.

Cara? Fett?

Absolutely not, they’d both say to engage in sexual relations on the cockpit console.

Who was left?

Who was—

A creaking caught his attention.

Grogu pawed at his helmet and then discovered that Din was wearing no chest plate. He patted at the top of his collar bone.

“What do I do, kid?” Din whispered to him.

Grogu lifted his dark, dark eyes and scratched lightly at the edge of the helmet. Din checked over his shoulder and then, as quietly as he could with one hand, slipped it off. Grogu gurgled happily and nuzzled his cheek.

He was sleep-warm. His tiny weight was comforting in Din’s arms.

“Do you like him?” Din whispered. “Skywalker, I mean. Do you trust him?”

Grogu hummed against his neck.

“What do I tell him?” Din asked him softly. “I find him infuriating.”

And brave. And maybe even charming? It was hard to explain.

Luke Skywalker was like a flame in the dark. A fire in the middle of the desert, holding its own against an endless expanse of sand and a vast and impossibly deep sky of stars.

He made Din feel grounded. And hopeful. For Grogu, for himself.

For the future.

He made those words, his words, feel like something that might be possible.

 _Maybe the galaxy_ wasn’t _so cold and unfeeling after all._

Grogu laid his head on Din’s shoulders and let his ears fall slowly.

“Is that enough?” Din asked him.

Grogu turned away from him and stared over his shoulder in the direction of the cockpit.

Grogu went back into his hammock. Din left his helmet with him.

He re-entered the cockpit and closed the door behind him. Skywalker was leaning on the console, pouting out at space.

“I’m so bored I could weep,” he sighed.

“I love you,” Din said all at once.

It was as though even the very hairs on Sky—Luke’s head were electrified.

“I’m sorry?” he said, turning around in his seat. “Are you sick—DIN.”

“Yes?” Din asked breathlessly.

Luke flailed a little at the console and then checked over both of his shoulders as though they had company that Din had not seen board the ship.

“You forgot your _helmet_ ,” Luke whispered furiously into his right shoulder with averted eyes. “Back, back. Go get it, you must have left it in the washroom. I’ve got this, don’t sweat it. I’ve flown hundreds of shitty ships.”

“I didn’t forget it,” Din said.

He watched the veins in Luke’s neck go tense.

“I know you don’t like to see my face,” Din said. “But there are very few people who my Creed allows us to share our visages with. They must be those who we trust completely. Those who understand the value of that which we have put into their hands. And I want to put this in yours.”

Luke’s eyes flicked back towards him for the barest of moments before he shook his head and turned further away.

“You’re always so serious,” he mumbled.

“Your eyes are blue,” Din told him. He stepped in and settled down at the console. “I didn’t know.”

Said eyes came back to him again, and this time, they didn’t leave right away.

“Yours are alright, I guess,” Luke finally admitted.

Din huffed.

Stubborn to the last, this one.

“Will you join our clan?” Din asked, properly this time, with a newly bared hand held out and everything.

Luke looked at it and seemed more conflicted than ever.

“What happens when you finally lose that saber?” he asked.

“My promise to you remains the same,” Din told him.

“What happens when the Jedi turn on me or the others?” Luke asked him.

“My promise to you remains the same,” Din repeated. “Unasked, you have given me something that I haven’t dared to dream of in a long, long time, and I do not take that gift lightly. So, will you do me the honor, Luke Skywalker?”

Luke’s left hand was a little ruddy set against layers of white robes. The leather cord wrapped around it stood out like a slash in the sky. Din watched as the fingers underneath that slash twitched, then curled, and then finally lifted.

They were cold at the tips when they landed in Din’s palm.

“Take me back to Tatooine, Din Djarin,” Luke said. “And go put that bucket back on already.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of this series. I giggled/cackled my way all the way through. Thank you so much for commenting and reading, I have read every comment and re-read it and re-read it.
> 
> (If I do more in this universe, I'm going to put it in a side series, since I'm clinically unable to just leave a written series alone lol. I've already got some ideas for that) anyways, major love, y'all. Thank you for being so welcoming and open.


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